


Into the Wends

by ALadyofRohan



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M, POE Mini Bang, Past Character Death, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALadyofRohan/pseuds/ALadyofRohan
Summary: As a right of passage, Faraligh Tzulich leaves her clan to venture out into the cold heart of the wilds of her homeland. The harshness of the elements coupled with her own perseverance lead her to self-discovery.Out in the White that Wends, anything is possible.(A/N: Passage has elements of Pale Elf culture that is not yet known to canon. Much of this is made up for the embellishment of the story.)Check out the art my good friend zaldwhen was so kind enough to put together on here https://zaldwhen.tumblr.com/post/171109443640/my-contribution-to-the-pillars-of-eternity-mini





	Into the Wends

_"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep."_

**-Robert Frost**

 

Faraligh sat quietly in her family's tent, warming her feet by a small fire burning in the center. Her thumbs twiddled back and forth as she waited patiently for someone to walk in. She knew the news from the elders would be ill, and that she must steady herself for the verdict.

She had been suffering from strange dreams, and the village would take it as an omen if she did not make a pilgrimage of self, as was custom for all Pale Elves in the White that Wends.

The sealskin flap opened, and Faralighs eyes darted up to her mother, Alida. Her grey forehead was creased and Faraligh felt a small pang in her chest. She got up and wrapped her arms around her mother.

“The Elders have decided then, madim?” Faraligh asked lightly, setting her head on her mothers shoulder.

Alida sighed as she sat herself down, her hands searching over the tanned deer skin of her skirt to distract from the tears. She looked at her daughter, the same arctic blue stare.

“You are to leave.” Alida said with a crack in her voice, “Your dreams have come stronger than before. And they fear it would be an ill omen to keep you in the village until…”

“Until I determine the Gods purpose?” Faraligh asked.

Her mother nodded, “They don’t understand...with your patim gone on his hunt. He won’t be back until the turning of winter. If they could only just have waited-”

“Madim,” Faraligh cooed, brushing back the strands of white hair from her mothers face, “That is not our choice. And I will go if I must.”

“Your siblings and I need you here…”

Faraligh sighed, “Anu is old enough to help with the fishing. And I’m sure he can get Lilja and Valdis to pick up a few chores. You’ll be just fine, and patim will return in a few weeks time I’m sure of it.”

Alida took Faralighs icy blue hands and placed a gentle kiss.

“A fool I am to think you’re not all grown up.” Alida sighed, “Go and see Bjara then, I will see that you’re packed.”

“Thank you, madim.” Faraligh kissed her mothers cheek, then rushed outside into the village.

Tzulich village was no more than fifty close-knit tents situated along a great lake. It was particularly empty during the summer months, the hunters having gone to search for caribou while the ice was mostly melted. 

But still life went on, those who stayed bustled around to take care of morning chores. Faraligh could feel a frost setting in, and was sure everyone else did as well. Autumn was non-existent in the White that Wends, and Summer lasted only eight weeks.

Faraligh pranced through the tents of animal skins, taking care to step around the children that had run past her. She pretended not to notice someone was following her through the small market at the center of town.

The Tzulich village prided themselves on their adept skills with working amber, often found in the trees up in the White. It was a strange find in the tundra, but the Pale Elves needed all they could gather to keep commerce alive.

Her eyes settled on a piece of amber jewelry in one particular stall. She let out a small gasp, taken with its beauty. She stopped herself to admire its luster.

Another set of fingers found the necklace, brushing theirs over Faralighs. Faralighs nose curled when she smelled dried dulce. A smooth and even voice spoke her name.

“Faraligh.”

She turned to face who she knew to be Varajn, youngest son of one of the Elders. His grey eyes settled on her lips.

“Varajn.” Faraligh said, not trying to hide the venom in her tone, setting the necklace down with a hard thud. The shopkeep eyed them, but she backed away when Varajn gave her a look.

“My mother mentioned you were to make your pilgrimage, immediately.” Varajn said to Faraligh, “A feat that I’m sure will be no trouble for someone so skilled as you.”

“Keep back your niceties, Varajn.”

“So hostile…” Varajn chuckled, brushing his fingers up her hand, “And here I was coming to congratulate you.” He closed the space between them to take in the scent of her hair.

“I don’t take the words of a coward.” Faraligh curled her lip, pulling her hand away and continuing her way to the seer.

“Coward?” Varajn asked, following close behind her, “Is that what you think of me?”

“And what else might I call the curr who used his position with the Elders to keep back from the yearly hunt?” Faraligh asked.

“A man looking for something more than animal shit.” Varajn said, taking her arm and pulling her to the side so that no one could see them, “You know Shiftan Frosk is dying, and in the coming winter he will choose who is to lead this village as new Shiftan.”

Faraligh furrowed her brow when Varajn mentioned her grandfather, “He would never choose such a craven fool.”

“He would, should I happen to make his only living grashamde my wife.”

Faraligh pulled herself away, “Never.”

“My mother is to speak with your father on the return of the hunt.” Varajn told her, “Especially after all we’ve shared. And I’m sure he’s inclined to agree after the unfortunate incident with your cousin last winter…”

Faraligh reeled her fist back and punched him. She spat at his feet.

“I am not an object for sale.”

She stormed away, leaving Varajn bleeding from his nose, an amused expression on his face despite the pain.

Faraligh shook away her crawling skin, reminding herself that she must see Bjara. She neared the seers tent, muttering choice swears. She stopped when she came to a wolfskin tent, the only one adorned with different sorts of bird feathers and sigils made with red dyes.

“Bjara!” Faraligh called, opening the flap to the tent.

She was greeted by a menagerie of scents. The sweet grass, rowan, and dulce hanging from the ceiling brushed her face. Bjara always kept dried herbs burning to increase his powers of prophetic dreams and the like. Faraligh grazed a freshly caught rabbit hanging by her head, nearing the center of the darkened tent.

“Tzulich come before Bjara…” A hiss came from the shadows, a hulking shadow crept forward, “A blessing it is you seek?” Bjara looked up at Faraligh, one eye whitened by blindness, and the other a deep blue.

Faraligh got to her knees, holding Bjaras cold tattooed hand.

“I seek protection as I embark on my pilgrimage.”

Bjara nodded his grey head, “Tzulich think you are ready to find Heila Ligh…” He pursed his lips, “Tzulich has had the dreams.”

“They want me going to Heila Ligh?” Faraligh asked.

“Tzulich say nothing to old Bjara,” The seer gave a wave of his wrinkled hand, “But Bjara see in the smoke. Tzulich say bring back water from Heila Ligh, or do not come back to Tzulich.” Bjara lumbered about his tent, gathering various oddities from slanted wooden shelves.

Each item he picked, he threw into a dirtied silver bowl. Dried flower, snow, black sand, and a few other herbs that Faraligh could not see. Bjara placed the bowl on a small wooden pedestal and began to mix the herbs with his heavy pestle.

“Tzulich, come.” He beckoned Faraligh over to him.

Bjara muttered a small prayer, taking the black paste and painting a line from the top of Faralighs lip and straight down to her neck. Then he painted lines from her eyelids and down her cheeks.

“Tzulich see much before Heila Ligh, and even more in days to come. Keep mind to dreams, they speak more truths than most bound in mortal bodies.” Bjara said, “And when Tzulich finds their spectre, they embrace.”

“Thank you, Bjara.” Faraligh said gratefully, standing to her full height.

Before she left, Bjara called her one last time.

“Tzulich, be wary,” He warned, “Tzulich never goes alone.”

 

Faraligh walked slowly through her village, the eyes of all who stayed were upon her. They issued a low hum, the beginning to a chant to send off the young elf who is to embark on their pilgrimage. She felt Varajns eyes on her, but held her head up high and continued on.

She came to the edge of the village, where her mother and siblings waited. They were accompanied by each of the elders.

Faraligh embraced her brother Anu, barely in his 16th summer and already bearing the same air as their father.

She turned to her sisters, Lilja and Valdis. She placed two delicate kisses on their foreheads, wiping away the stray tears on their blue cheeks.

Alida pulled Faraligh in for a long embrace, she whispered into her daughters ear.

“If you see her, bring your cousin back to us. I cannot bear the thoughts of her bones lying in the snow for the scavengers.”

“Yes, madim.”

Faraligh broke her mothers tight grip. Reluctantly pulling away from her family to receive the blessings from the Elders.

Shiftan Frosk placed a cold hand on his granddaughters shoulder, ignoring his daughters sobs. Faraligh couldn’t help but think how his pale blue cheeks had grown so thin.

“Faraligh Tzulich, you now go out in the Great White Wilds to make your pilgrimage to our sacred Heila Ligh. Take with you the blessings of your people, may the spirits guide your path. Take from the land, but remember to always honor the earth as you do. And take heed...snow comes, but never let the fierceness of her breath fool your eyes. You are never alone in the Wends.”

Faraligh kissed the Shiftans hand, continuing on as each of the Elders placing their own blessing.

Once they had finished, Faraligh turned to face the open lands of the White that Wends. She looked back once to offer a comforting smile to her family, then turned and set off into the wilds.

 

Faraligh had made a good distance across the tundra before night had begun to fall. Slowly the horizon had slipped from a deep fiery orange to a shimmering navy blue. Faraligh traveled across the hills of sweet grass, looking up every now and then as to let the stars be her compass to Heila Ligh.

As a child, Bjara had always said that the journey to Heila Ligh was further south, where the snow never melted, and the stars took the shapes of gods.

Which of her Gods, she wondered?

Faraligh asked herself that same question with each step she took.

Eventually when the sky turned black and the stars glittered in the openness of space, Faraligh settled herself atop the tallest hill she could find. The last evergreen tree she had seen for miles sat here, and she placed herself right beside it.

She looked off into the distance, noticing the small line of yellow in the horizon. Not too far from Tzulich village was a settlement of Boreal dwarves. Faraligh knew that once she crossed past their clans borders that no other life would be seen, save whatever animals dared to venture so far into the tundra.

She took care to place a sprig of wolfsbane around her sleeping mat, then sprinkled a few drops of bear urine around the circumference of her makeshift camp. She knew it would ward away most things during the night.

Faraligh could have sworn she heard the deep music of the dwarves travel across the plain that separated them. Faraligh revelled in having something to break the silence of night, finding it easier to slip into her deerskin mat.

She stretched out her arms under her head, gazing up at the diamond-like stars. A cold breeze ran across the highlands, and Faraligh could smell snow on the way. Knowing she’d need to rest up for the long trek to Heila Ligh, she forced herself to close her eyes. Hoping that the darkness would ease her way into her unstable dreams.

  
  


Faraligh set out just as the sun began to rise. The morning skies were dull and grey, the true sign of impending snow.

She made her trek past the camps of the Boreal Dwarves, taking care to keep them at horizons distance. Still, she could smell fish on the fires, and dulce carried through the winds. She couldn’t help but think how similar it was to her own village, and she felt a pang in her stomach. Faraligh tore her eyes away from the line of tents, her gaze settling instead on the open tundra that would lead her southwards.

The further she travelled into the wilds, the darker the skies became. Faraligh pulled her scarves farther up onto her face, the hairs in her nose freezing as if they were needles. Even so her breath would seep from her furs and form great clouds that disappeared as quick as they came.

Faraligh traveled for miles, only stopping now and again to catch her breath and take small bites of whatever her mother saw fit to store for her.

As she chewed on beluga fat, Faralighs ears twitched under her wrapped scarves. She turned herself when she heard the low bellow of a mother caribou.

From her point on her hill, Faraligh saw the heard not far off to the west. The scent they carried in the winds was less than appealing, but Faraligh saw that they too were headed south, and she welcomed the company.

She clicked her tongue, the small calf ceasing its hopping to look towards Faraligh. The mother called once again, but the fawn was curious, and trotted towards Faraligh. She let the small doe sniff her gloved hand, receiving a snort from the calf. Faraligh cooed in her native tongue, speaking of how brilliant she thought the calf's brown eyes were.

It was then that the cow warily came over, warning Faraligh with her small set of antlers, the velvet slowly falling away. Faraligh slowly bowed her whole body, presenting herself as non-threatening to cow and calf.

The cow snorted, ignoring Faraligh altogether and ushering her baby back towards the herd.

Faraligh followed a ways behind, incorporating her way into the back of the heard. She was careful to steer clear of the inevitable reindeer shit. For the most part she was ignored, the smell of caribou permeating enough into her clothes as to mask her as one of them. Now and again a calf would nip playfully at her insulated pants or her gloves.

Only after a few hours of travel with the reindeer had the snow finally begun to fall. It began with light flakes, barely forming on the ground even after an hour. But the day had grown colder and darker, and the snows grew more bold the farther south they came. Faraligh had begun trudging through as the snow piled up to her knees, the caribou moving slower than before, huddling closer together to keep warm. The winds were bitter cold and the snow was unforgiving, but Faraligh made due by pushing her way towards the middle of the caribou to keep out most of the chill.

It was when the herd reached the lowlands that the snow had really begun to rush to the ground. Faraligh searched for higher ground, thinking maybe she could steer the bucks back up the snow banks, but the blizzard shielded much of the horizon. Twice now she had fallen through to her waist as the calves had done, and there was only so much snow her animal furs could keep out.

The herd of caribou came to a halt, the animals now huddling closer together to keep themselves warm. Faraligh felt the chill seep into her bones, finding little to be garnered from whatever warmth the caribou gave each other.

As if salvation from her gods, Faraligh spotted the ghostly outline of a frozen pond, and nestled into the hills behind it was the mouth of a seemingly abandoned cave. She pushed and shoved her way through the stagnant group of reindeer,

Faraligh trudged through the deepening snow, and though the pond was frozen solid she took wary steps as she neared the mouth of the cave.

Long blades of ice hung down from the cave mouth. Faraligh likened herself to being inside the gaping jaws of a great dragon.

The cave itself was surprisingly dry, and Faraligh was intrigued by the fact that it didn’t quite come to an end. A narrow passageway was situated in the far back, and Faraligh told herself she’d explore further once she got the feeling back into her limbs.

She looked through her bundle, gathering supplies to make up a small fire. Daylight never lasted long, and it was quickly beginning to darken. But Faraligh was grateful to be out of the storm.

As she lit her fire, she remembered to give thanks to its warmth and to pray that the caribou received the same effect.

She sat for what felt like hours, relishing the feeling in her fingers and toes. Every now and again she would glance up at the narrow doorway. There were carvings in the rockface, symbols in which Faraligh knew were lost to the Pale Elves. It was strange that they were seen in such a cave, Faraligh would have thought a cave like this would have been used by dwarves, not elves.

As if sensing her curiosity, the passage began to emanate a low hum. The sound buried itself into her chest. A lump formed in her throat, and Faraligh was overcome with a sense of melancholy.

The humming reminded her of the deep song that her village sang as she walked towards the Elders.

She took in a deep breath and shook herself away from her creeping thoughts, turning her attention to the preserved fish in her pack.

She was only a few bites in when she heard a commotion from some of the reindeer. The low warning bellows of the bucks were followed by the eerie cries of wolves.

Faraligh rushed to grab her bow, nocking an arrow into place.

Her breath was ragged, remembering the tales her grandfather told of wolves, warning his grandchildren never to wander from the village lest the wolves take you.

A small part of her childhood fears began to creep in. Through the snowy winds Faraligh could see the faint lights of their yellow eyes.

Faralighs heart pounded in her chest, watching the dark shadow of a single wolf move across the frozen lake while the rest of the pack picked away at the weaker caribou.

The wolf moved closer to the cave, and Faraligh couldn’t help but take a few steps back. She knew the land was sparse, and the ravenous hunger of this animal would drive it to seek whatever food it could find.

Faraligh pulled back her arrow just as she began to see the flicker of her fire bounce off of the wolfs muzzle.

She sent her arrow prematurely, and the wolf took the opportunity to lunge at her, baring its fangs. Faraligh was knocked back, her bow and arrows strewn about. The wolf stood on her chest, snapping at her sealskin parka. It bit into the plush arm, pulling her entire body outwards towards the mouth of the cave.

Faraligh kicked at the wolf, but its jaw was like steel. The fires of hunger alight in its eyes.

She tried to twist her body, her shoulder pulling and threatening to come out of its socket.

Faraligh tried to wrestle free, but the wolf gave one hearty tug. Faraligh felt a pop in her shoulder, her entire arm and back burning with a white hot pain. She lost all feeling in her right hand.

As they passed the fire, Faraligh took one of the sticks in between her boots, wrangling her legs up to grab the stick with her free hand. She singed the wolfs wrinkled muzzle, a painful yelp echoing through the cave.

The wolf pawed at its nose, giving Faraligh time to pull herself away.

She quickly tried to crawl towards her weapon, but the wolf recovered and latched itself onto her padded leg. Faraligh cried when she felt its teeth slowly sink into her.

The wolf began to drag her again, each time Faraligh kicked it would only make the wolfs fangs plunge deeper into her flesh.

Faraligh stretched her arms out, grabbing any sized rocks she could find to hurl it at the wolfs head.

The wolf finally let go when a rock jostled its head. One of them hitting its eye so hard it began to bleed out of the socket.

Faraligh scrambled back to the closest arrow, turning in enough time to see the wolf leap at her. Blood from its head sprayed onto her face as she fought back. Faraligh finally managed to jab her arrow into its side, the sound of arrowhead hitting flesh making her sick.

The wolf yelped in pain, but Faraligh kept stabbing. She held it down with her knees, her other arm limp to her side.

When the wolf stopped moving, Faraligh fell back, the blood covering her once grey parka.

Faraligh felt as if she had been lying there for centuries.

The sounds of the pack outside brought her back to reality, and Faraligh jumped to her feet, her leg screaming in pain as she quickly gathered what she could.

She felt as if she could feel the wolves behind her as she ran through the passageway in the back of the cave.

Her hood fell back, her scarf wrangled as she raced through the labyrinth-like caverns. Cobwebs plastered her blue hair, and she felt as if the rocky walls were closing in around her. She took no time to notice any markings or carvings, pure adrenaline rushing through her body.

There was a crackle under her feet, but Faraligh kept running, hearing the barking of the wolf pack not far behind her.

Her eyes flashed when she came to a sudden stop. She began to feel the ground crumble away.

The earth caved in around her, and Faraligh fell into black nothingness.

  
  


It was a dream she had many times before.

Faraligh found herself walking through Tzulich village, the very air around her wavering like the suns mirage. Her feet were bare and the ground remained unchanged by her footsteps. Dripping down into the dirt from her arms and hands was hot blood, and Faraligh felt it wasn’t her own.

She came upon a large tent, intended to house the shiftan. It seemed to open with a quick motion, and Faraligh saw herself in the tent.

Color rose in her cheeks as she watched the other version of herself sitting by a beautifully ornate vanity; seemingly imported from the northern lands. She was dressed in a fine dress of velvet, something her own conscious knew was far too expensive to be in their village.

Varajn came up behind her, placing his large hands on her shoulders and he draped an amber necklace across her bare neck.

From the outside, Faraligh watched her other self let Varajn caress her cheek with one hand, while the other slid down into the top of her dress.

The Faraligh inside the tent threw herself at Varajn, biting his neck like some wild thing and submitting him to the ground. She had bitten him so hard that trickles of his blood fell from her lips, Varajn seeming to relish in this as he watched Faraligh rip her own dress away. She felt him go into her, his hands playing with her blue nipples as she fucked him from on top.

Varajn sat up to kiss her jaw, and as he did Faralighs gaze met the one of the Faraligh looking into the tent.

The other self grinned at her, still engaging in her carnal delights. Her eyes changed color, instead of their usual arctic blue they swirled into a hard and frightening yellow.

Outside the tent, Faraligh fell back into the dirt. The traces of blood on her hands gone away, and she was left feeling extremely small.

She was spun around by an outside force, finding herself face to face with the yellow eyed Faraligh.

She was still naked, the sweat and scent of sex still on her. She grabbed the chin of the Faraligh on the ground and lifted her up.

“Don’t we miss it?” The yellow eyed figure said, “A man inside us to trigger our visions?”

“I’ll find another way.” Faraligh said, “I’ve changed.”

“Our cousins death had its toll, but we deny ourselves the gift the gods have given us. We are an oracle, meant to drain away ecstacy for our foresight.” The yellow eyed Faraligh played with her amber necklace, “We have an advantage to take one so willing. He is a good host. And if we recall, our climax with him the last time foretold the death of our dear sweet Anya…”

“Enough, demon,” Faraligh spat, “I have no control of myself, and I will not let myself degrade myself again.”

“In the last year we’ve seen the great wolf prowl into our dreams, should we have read the portents etched into our mind we may have already seen the decision the elders have given long before. We could have prepared ourselves for what is to come.”

“And what is to come?” Faraligh asked.

The yellow eyed Faraligh grinned and tsked, shaking her delicate finger, “See for ourselves.”

Faraligh felt her body lurch upwards. The demon laughing as she was whisked away into the darkness...

It was the whispers that woke her.

Faraligh slowly opened her eyes, her head pounding as she adjusted her eyes to the darkness. She had landed on her stomach and face, and the groaned when she tried to push herself up with her hands.

Her head swam, but when she got to her feet she could finally get her bearings. She looked up and saw where she fell from, seemingly 30 feet above her.

The open cave she landed in was far older, naturally formed rather than rough hewn rock like the tunnel above.

The fall into the cave would have broken her leg if she hadn’t been so lucky to land in a soft patch of vibrant green moss. Faraligh pushed her foot into the moss to test the sponge. As her boot sunk in, the brighter the moss became.

She would’ve reeled back, had it not been for the painful bite mark in her leg. Faraligh dragged herself to a large rock, covered in bright lichen. She sat, pulling off her boot and rolling up her pant leg to check her wound.

The blood had already clotted, most of the teeth marks merely superficial thanks to the padding in her clothes. Faraligh removed her gloves and took a handful of lichen and proceeded to chew, taking care not to swallow any of it.

Once it had turned to tasteless mush, Faraligh spit it all up, rolling it in her hands and applying it to her leg. She winced, electric pains running up her leg and through her spine.

The quick remedy would have to do until she found a better place to care for the wound. She bangaged her leg and pushed herself to stand.

She gathered the supplies that survived the fall, thanking her gods that her bow was still intact, even if a few of the arrows had shattered.

Faraligh took a deep breath, then began her journey into the long dark.

 

Faraligh felt as if the narrow tunnels would never come to an end. Though she could see in the dark, she was grateful to have whatever luminous lichen seemed to crawl up the rocky walls.

Finally the tunnel seemed to open into a larger cavern covered in a sweet smelling mist.

Faraligh looked on, and leading up past a long forgotten stone bridge was an expansive cavern, covered in bright blue and green subterranean plant life. Beyond the bridge was an abandoned stone tower that led far up through the roof of the caverns, and Faraligh was sure it could even be built far above the surface.

A great waterfall was situated just past the tower covering the entire backdrop that obscured whatever might lead past it.

She stepped out of her tunnel, crossing over the bridge with extreme care. Small parts of it had crumbled away, and she could hardly see whatever carvings had been there as they were covered in the brightly colored moss.

As she came upon the tower itself, she could see thin slits running up and down, she presumed they had been used for defense should the need arise.

The inside of the tower itself was thickly covered in the luminous fungi, the air thick with bright spores. The bottom floor was nothing more than an open space that circled upwards into the sky.

Just above the archway that opened up to see the waterfall was a lichen-covered stone plaque. Faraligh stood on her toes to wipe the grime away.

In the language of her people, the plaque read:

‘Ta Brugan ov Frosk’

“The tower of mist…” Faraligh whispered to herself, “Now what would my people have been doing so far below the surface?”

As she ran her bare finger over the deeply set etchings, Faraligh again heard soft whispering. Her ears perked up and she continued on past the tower.

She had just reached the archway when she came to another bridge that led right into the waterfall. Her curiosity piqued, Faraligh slowly made her way through the wall of warm water.

The water itself gave her renewed vigor, and she thought it strange that she never once slipped on the bridge. Walking through the lightly falling water, Faraligh felt the whispers surrounding her. It was a strange comfort to have as she made her way across the bridge. She opened her eyes when she was fully through.

Faraligh felt all breath leave her as she looked on at the splendors before her.

A great city of carved stone lay before her as far as she could see. The walls of the city itself were lit so brightly by the fungi that Faraligh had to squint to adjust her eyes.

It was clearly abandoned, but Faraligh felt deep in her belly that this was where she needed to be.

Her bridge let out further to a broken gate, one that she easily slipped through despite her injury.

Once inside the walls of the city, Faraligh wandered about. Abandoned shops and homes were laid about in a methodical manner. Faraligh still felt as if life breathed through the city, expecting at any minute to see people bustling about their everyday lives.

At the heart of the city, Faraligh came upon a large semi-circular stone freco rising up from the floor. She felt a giddy jump in her chest, and she immediately set to clearing away the bracken and the moss.

It seemed like hours that she had been at her work, halfway through she removed her parka as she had almost sweat through it.

Finally satisfied with her work, she stood back to eye what the stone fresco had portrayed.

At one side was a clearly defined map of the city, circled around was a traditional Glamfellen knotwork. The work was so intricate Faraligh was in awe of how that managed it with the hard stone. Faraligh took note of the Glamfellen star located where the acropolis was, and just north of it was a strangely shaped entity that read ‘Ta Selven Laksh’ or, ‘The Silver Lake’.

Around the other side of the fresco were depictions of Pale elves in mid-gallop on tamed caribou, dwarven archers standing erect with elven swordsman; including their wood elf brethren from the northern lands. At the center was a grand looking Pale Elf Shiftan, covered in bright robes with the whispers of tattoos on his face, to his left was a dwarven woman holding a large shield, and to his right was a genderless wood elf poising their arrow to the sky.

Faraligh had to sit herself down, tears streaming down her face as she took in the intricate beauties of her elders.

She was wiping her tears when again she heard the whisperings. Finally she could hear the strings of the old Glamfellan language. They bade her look to the acropolis just beyond the fresco, and she could not deny her urge to move farther into the city.

She gathered her things and continued.

At the foot of the beautifully carved acropolis stood another fresco, but smaller. Unlike the other, in the center of the stone carvings was an etching. Faraligh cleaned the stone away so that she could read it.

In Glamfellen it read:

‘Es is hoer vawolt unse heila, dera misk un ta jorn vach sol wron us konti ora unse Dvengelen brod ish unse Snora tichti ov ta elde. Guna Heila Ligh wei ta vara fara ov unse tzu, ish guna oll ove we yol wi ess ligh.’

Faraligh read it back to herself in common, “It is here we build our city, a mark on the map which shall bring us closer to our dwarven brethren and our northern sisters of the forest. Let Heila Ligh be the guiding jewel of our people, and let all others be warmed by its light.” She took a deep breath and felt another lump in her throat.

“Heila Ligh…” She whispered.

She set her head against the fresco, the cool stone bringing an odd comfort to her tired body.

“I’m here, Anya.” Faraligh said.

She took a moment to collect herself before heading up the worn steps to the palace.

It took some time, but she shoulder her way through the front doors. Inside was unlike any acropolis Faraligh had ever imagined.

The roof was a complete blanket of blue geodes and green moss. Large ornate pillars were perfectly aligned in the main foyer. There were no rooms off to the side, just one single door at the end of the room.

Unlike anything left in Heila Ligh, the door opened easily and silently. Faraligh found herself before an expansive lake. Like the map had depicted, it beheld the most beautiful silver glare, and Faraligh couldn’t tell how far away the geode-littered bottom truly was.

At the dead center of this lake was a waterfall that came from the surface above. The waterfall fell straight down into a raised basin that spilled over into the lake. Around the basin was an intricately made platform with pillars seemingly untouched by time.

“The sacred waters.” Faraligh said with an ecstatic breath.

Faraligh stepped out onto the stony dock of the lake, seeing no way to get to the center. Instead all she found was another raised plaque with a description that read ‘Bruind ov Kvr’, or Bridge of Mirrors. Underneath the name was a cryptic description.

‘Es is nira vat ura vay,

Es it nira vat ura wei’

Faraligh furrowed her brow.

“It is not what thee see, it is not what thee be?”

She frowned, thinking that out of all places in Heila Ligh, this should be one with clearer instructions as to how to get to the basin.

She sat on the docks for a time repeating the riddle to herself.

“Bridge of Mirrors...there is no bridge…and I see no-”

Faraligh caught her reflection in the silvery waters.

“Mirrors…”

Faraligh jumped to her feet. She chided herself on not thinking of it before.

She took a deep breath, hoping she was right.

She stepped out, placing one foot on the water. Her body seemed to lurch when she found she wasn’t sinking through. Instead, a seemingly translucent stone took place under her boot.

“Bridge of Mirrors…” She reaffirmed.

Faraligh fully stepped onto the water, taking care to steady herself as to not let her eyes deceive her into falling in.

Faraligh felt as if an entire lifetime passed when she reached the steps that led to the silvery basin. She took a moment to try and keep back the sick feeling in her stomach and wiped away the sweat from her brow.

She stepped up to the basin, the mist from the waterfall coating her from head to toe.

Faraligh said a small prayer, one her grandfather would always recite before an offering. Then she took her madims beluga-skin vessel and slowly filled it with the silvery water.

Faraligh felt every emotion rush through her as she did the duty she had been set out to do. She could feel in her heart that her grandfather would be proud.

The whispers she had previously heard became full voices, and all around her echoing across the lake Faraligh heard the songs of her people.

It was an ethereal experience travelling back across the lake, Faraligh felt as if nothing were under here, the water remaining undisturbed by her footsteps. It was as if she were back in her dreamlike state. Across the water, the ghostly forms of the Glamfellan who had taken hr pilgrimage before surrounded her. They sang a melancholic song of travelling through this world into the next, and Faraligh began to weep as she held the beluga skin in her hands.

She neared the center of the bridge, the booming voices of the ghosts sinking into her chest and she was overcome.

In the crowd of ghosts she could see her grandmother, renewed by the youth found in death. Beside her was the smiling face of Faralighs cousin, Anya.

Anya and her grandmother came closer to the bridge, their spectral bodies making no reflection in the water.

“Faraligh, you’ve come so far.” Her grandmother said.

Anya chimed in, “Don’t you wish to rejoin your people?”

“Anya...what happened?”

“The snows are harsh, and the wolves even more so. I found solace in Heila Ligh, my last breath taken when I tried to carry the water out of the city.” Anya said, “My wounds were too deep, and my body now lies in the Tower of Sighs.”

“Fret not, Faraligh,” Her grandmother said, “anya came to me in the end. And so shall you. My beautiful girls back together again.”

“What do you mean?” Faraligh asked.

“You don’t need to go back, Fara,” Anya said, “Grandmother showed me the bliss I can have in the afterworld.” She reached out her hand, “One step is all it takes. You hardly feel it when the silver fills your lungs.”

Faraligh resisted the urge to move her foot into the water.

“I can’t.”

“Death comes to us all, Faraligh. At the end of my days I came back to the city of light, and I threw myself willingly into the silver.” Her grandmother said, “Your cousin suffered brutality, but you can ease yourself into death. No more pain, no more suffering…”

“Stop.” Faraligh said harshly, “I will not be fooled by such spectres.”

Her grandmothers face darkened, and Anya disappeared.

“You will learn.”

Faraligh heard something fall into the water behind her. Whatever invisible bridge had been there began to break and fall into the lake. A panic rushed through her and she took off at a run.

The bridge fell faster than she could run, and Faraligh just had time to throw her beluga skin onto the docks before the bridge collapsed under here.

Water rushed over her head, and Faraligh held her breath as long as she could, trying to swim up to the docks.

Something pulled at her injured leg, and Faraligh looked back to see the decayed body of her grandmother holding firm. Faraligh screamed, bubbles floating up to the surface. She grabbed the sturdiest piece of the dock above and yanked her leg as hard as she could. Faraligh had to close her eyes to keep from looking at the rotted black mouth covered in algae.

Her grandmother called her name through the water a soothing sirens sound. Faraligh felt her fingers slipping from the stone, and for a moment she felt like letting the silver take her under.

Her grandmother began to crawl up her leg, and when her bony finger dug into the wolf bite, the pain sent Faraligh reeling. She kicked away as hard as she could, blood pouring into the water.

Finally Faraligh managed to steady her grip, pulling herself up onto the dock. She coughed, water spurting from her mouth. Faraligh rolled herself onto her back. She looked up to the glittered ceiling and thanked her gods for giving her strength. Her hand found the beluga skin, and she heaved a great sigh.

When gathered the strength, she peered into the water. But all she saw was the glittery bottom, and nothing else.

 

After a long deserved rest, Faraligh found herself in ‘Ta Brugen ov Vakesh’. Anya had told her this is where she met her untimely end, and Faraligh was determined to bring something back for her family. True to its name, there was a constant wind that flowed through the arrow slits giving the whole tower an long eerie moan.

A heavy air fell over Faraligh, and her heart pounded as she walked through the rotting tower.

Faraligh found her cousins body in a moss covered corner. Small traces of black flesh were left clinging to her skeleton. Teeth left green by the spores, her eyes completely rotted away.

Faraligh squatted over Anya's body, muttering a small prayer. Her eyes glazed over, and she patted the mold covered parka her cousin died in. She knew didn’t have the supplies to carry her body across the snows back to her village, so she looked over for things to bring to her family.

She secured her cousins daggers, and the arm band she had received from the Shiftan for killing a bear.

An amber ring flashed on Anya's rotted little finger, and Faraligh gently took it and placed it on her own. Anya's fingers were always bigger than Faralighs, so the only finger it would fit was the middle.

“You’re not alone anymore.” Faraligh whispered, placing her hand over her heart and extended it out towards Anya, “Be at peace, daughter of the Tzulich.”

Faraligh woke up in a cold sweat.

The same dream had come to her, and this time the dark figure she had seen in herself had grabbed her.

Faraligh could feel the claws in her neck. She flung her hands up to feel, and when she pulled her fingers away she could see small trickles of blood.

She fell back into her bedroll, staring up at the geode-littered cavern ceiling. She likened it to laying back under the open sky, wondering if the ancient Glamfellen thought the same.

She felt as if she had lain there for hours. Finally she gathered the strength to collect her things, change her bandages and set out from the city.

Faraligh found herself at the front gates, two great stone slabs broken in half by time. They had been forced open inwards towards the city, and Faraligh could only wonder what had happened to make the Glamfellens leave to pursue such a cold life in the tundra.

But she suppose she could only wonder.

The way out was far easier than the way she had come in. The road from the city was marked by moss ridden signs made of slate, and the roads themselves were wide enough to accompany shipment carts or a marching army.

Faraligh felt the footsteps of the old elven soldiers deep in her bones.

The main road led on for a mile before it came to a slow incline, and before she knew it the moss and fungi began to fade. Eventually she came to a large open cave mouth, riddled with faded carving of knots ribboned around primitive caribou.

She wasn’t sure what day it was, but she welcomed the fresh burn of a bright midday sun.

Faraligh had been careful to mark her findings on a small tanned hide meant to be a map. She was sure her path up to the surface lead west. She figured if she turned and started back up the large hill that housed the entrance to Heila Ligh she could make her way back to her village in a matter of days.

She hadn’t known how long she had truly been underground, the caves had distorted her sense of time and day. The melting snow around her had proved she had been under a long while, as it only went up to her heels.

Two days past in the wilds, and at dusk on the second Faraligh finally found the partially frozen lake she had crossed not long ago.

The hoof marks of the caribou were mostly melted, but Faraligh could see they directed southeast, further out into the open highlands.

Chills ran through her when she saw the faded tracks of the wolves following their prey close behind. They must have turned back once she fell into the caverns. Faraligh took a deep breath, focusing herself on getting back to the village.

The night had grown extremely cold, and Faraligh had to bundle herself to keep warm and protect herself from the winds across the hills. With the winds brought the sharp smell of snow.

Faraligh looked around her, spotting a small grove of trees in the distance. It was further westward but Faraligh needed to find something to shelter herself from the blistering winds.

The evergreens kept back most of the harshness that the gales wished to inflict. There seemed to be even less snow in this lonely little oasis, and for that Faraligh was grateful. Underneath here there was hard brown grass, and Faraligh found a small comfort in seeing the patch of ground amongst this unpredictable frozen tundra.

She build up a quick fire, the falling snow sizzling in the flames. Faraligh pulled her wolfskin cloak around her, taking care to eat little of her dried fish.

After stoking the fire a bit more, Faraligh fell into a quiet trance. Her eyes fell on the dancing flames, figured of fiery sprites dancing with wispy deer. They revelled in the warm crackling music emanating from the wood. A bacchanal of genderless beings with loose hair and crystalline laughter. They seemed to look into Faraligh, the very flames of her campfire starting to burnin inside her stomach and up into her chest like an alcohol. The frolic in fiery fields, bounding about as they hypnotized Faraligh into closing her eyes.

Faralighs head snapped up when she heard a shift in the trees. Needles prickled up through her legs and burrowed into her spine. 

The fire before her was now only a small flicker of flame, and the gusts of wind had finally subsided into a light breeze.

But Faraligh didn’t move to add more wood. 

Instead, her gaze was locked on the yellow eyes of a great wolf sitting just across the fire from her. The wolf bore her sharp white teeth, but no sound came from her throat. Faraligh never strayed her eyes from the wolf, but she knew the rest of the pack was lingering in between the evergreens.

The wolf kept her eyes on Faraligh as well, watching for any slight movement.

It seemed like an eternity until the last flame of the fire had burned away, and Faraligh was left in utter darkness as the wolves closed in around her. Even still, she locked eyes with the wolf.

The wolf made the first move, stepping her white paw gently forward onto the hot embers. Faraligh expected a yelp of surprise, but the wolf kept moving forward. She moved as if a ghost, stopping in front of Faraligh. They felt each others breath, their eyes never leaving their intended target.

She expected to smell the typical rank of blood and raw meat on a canines breath. Instead, she smelled nothing, rather a small waft of some sweet thing carried along the breeze.

The wolf's yellow eyes seemed to glow, and Faraligh felt herself fall into the back freckles in the honey-like iris’.

 

A freezing rain settled over Tzulich village as the blackness of night pulled itself across the sky.  
Varajn tied the flap to his sealskin tent, rubbing away a phantom pain from his shoulder. A large scar from the spear of an ambush served as a dark reminder to why he felt so strongly about abstaining from the hunt.

His mother told him he was meant for greater things than succumbing to a raid from the Tzizni tribe.

The rain fell heavily on the roof of his tent. He turned to grab his bone pipe and dry tobacco when a cold gust flew into his tent. He set the pipe down and went back to close the tent, grumbling to himself about forgetting to tie the flap down tighter.

After fully securing the door, he turned back.

He nearly fell back when he saw Faraligh standing before him. A cold rush blew through him as she glared at him with yellow eyes. Fresh blood poured from her mouth and down her chin, Varajn could smell that it was caribou.

Her clothing was torn away, as if by some wild animal. All that was left were her tattered undergarments. Rain water covered her skin, and Varajn likened her to a selkie-woman.

Her wet hair fell away from her face, pushed back by some unknown force. A frigid finger lightly touched his chin.

“Kneel, Tzulich.” Faraligh said, her voice a low growl.

Varajn did as he was told, something akin to both fear and excitement coursing through him. His pupils enlarged as she stared him down.

Faraligh slowly licked away the blood on her lips. She leaned down, Varajn keeping his eyes locked on hers. They unnerved him. Each move she made and sound she uttered was like that of a wolf.

“Are you frightened?” She asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Should I be?” Varajn kept his gaze on her.

Faraligh ran her finger across his mouth, her yellow eyes flashing in the dying firelight. A low growl escaped from her throat as she spoke.

“Yes.”

 


End file.
